HARDCORE: Storm MC(94)

But the fourth bike, an Indian panhead customized for one-handed riding by The Great Gooch himself, was fully-repaired and ready to rock.



Cain took a helmet from a workbench and blew the dust off it before strapping it onto his head. He hit the button on the garage door remote and the door trundled upward, revealing the empty driveway and the beckoning road beyond it. Then he reached into his pocket, found the right key, and straddled the bike, inserting the key into the ignition.



He thought about all the times Gooch must have sat on this bike, feeling the breeze on his face as he rode hell-bent for leather down the highways even after everyone told him he'd never be able to again. Gooch hadn't let anyone convince him he was too broken to be an Eagle. He'd shown them all he still had what it took to be an outlaw, just like Cain would.



Cain smiled to himself and turned the key.



Nothing. The engine didn't make a sound.



Cain frowned, turning it again.



Still nothing.



Cain scowled, trying to figure out what could be wrong. He'd never taken the bike out for a spin, granted, but he was positive he'd examined every part of it and repaired every flaw. He'd even filled up the gas tank a couple of weeks before, planning to test it out soon. The machine should have been purring eagerly under him, but instead it was just dead weight between his legs.



As he pondered this, Missy's car pulled into the driveway ahead of him. She got out, and Cain noticed that she was wearing a clean shirt and a different pair of jeans. She peered at him over her sunglasses, raising an eyebrow.



“Going somewhere?” she asked.



“Since you ask, yeah,” Cain replied curtly, trying the key in the ignition again. Still nothing. “I'm going down to the Knife to see what Hunter and the guys have planned, just as soon as I find out why this fucking thing isn't working.”



“Oh, well, let me spare you the mystery,” Missy said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of spark plugs, showing them to him.



Cain stared at them, his teeth clenched in anger. “You...you...”



“Yeah, me, me,” Missy nodded. “There were piles of dirty clothes all over the bedroom, and your washer doesn't seem to be working. I'm guessing it probably committed suicide from neglect. I wanted to make sure you didn't do anything stupid while I was at the laundromat, so I yanked these out of Gooch's bike. I made a few other minor adjustments to it too, which I'll be happy to tell you about in a week when you've rested up.”



“How...what...” Cain stammered, red-faced with rage. “Where do you get your goddamn balls, fucking with a dude's bike, huh? Don't you know how personal that shit is?”



Missy rolled her eyes. “First of all, as you may have noticed, I don't have balls, and I've gotten along pretty well without them for over twenty years. I certainly didn't need them to pull out a few spark plugs. Second, it's not like I keyed the fucking thing or poured sugar into your gas tank. Tempting though those options were, I'm well aware of how much you Eagles worship your bikes, so I didn't do anything to it that couldn't be undone in about five minutes. And third, you've got four of the fucking things, so stop whining like a baby who's had his toy taken away and get a grip on yourself. I probably just saved you from doing something that would have ended your life. You're welcome.



“Now stop straddling that thing and take your helmet off,” Missy finished. “You look ridiculous.” She opened the trunk of the car, hauling out two large garbage bags bulging with clothes.



Cain got off the bike and took off the helmet, throwing it against the wall as hard as he could. It bounced back at him and he raised his arms without thinking, taking the impact on his cast with a yowl of pain.



“Serves you right for throwing a tantrum,” Missy said. “Now step aside. I need to bring these in.” She swept past him with the bags, heading toward the living room.



“So now what?” Cain asked, following her. “We swap stories? Play board games? Watch shitty TV in silence like an old married couple? What kind of senseless bullshit am I going to be forced to endure for the rest of the day until the fucking pills knock me out again?”



“You're lucky to have those pills,” Missy said, depositing the bags of clothes on the living room floor. “Frankly, I'd kill for a couple of them, just to soothe the headache I get from listening to you bitch all the time. And as for board games, well, that wouldn't be such a bad way to pass the time, except it doesn't look like you've got any around here. But if you ask me nicely, I can pick some up, 'cause I'm heading back out to hit the store for some essentials. I'd have gotten them on the way back, but I missed your chipper attitude and wanted to bask in it for a few more minutes first.”